


Speechless

by eyezonlyii



Series: Red and Black (but mostly Grey) [2]
Category: Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-15
Updated: 2014-05-15
Packaged: 2018-01-24 22:09:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1618739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyezonlyii/pseuds/eyezonlyii
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Bilal couldn't speak and one time he could</p>
            </blockquote>





	Speechless

The woman lay panting on the bed, exhausted and reeling from her ordeal. She throbbed and ached all over, her legs trembling and stomach heaving as waves of nausea surged through her. She was barely conscious, gasping for breath, and knew she wasn’t well.

But her thoughts weren’t about her.

“Is he alright?” she whispered, to no one in particular, hoping someone heard her. She couldn’t hear anything, and was too tired to keep her eyes open much longer; the pregnancy hadn’t been long enough but was complicated, the labor even more so…how many times had she thought she had lost her child? How many times did she wake up terrified because she hadn’t felt him move within her?

She tried to turn her head, or roll on her side, anything she could do to make contact with a doctor or nurse. Everyone was too quiet, and she whimpered, weak and distraught, knowing that this time she did lose him. Her tears burned as they rolled down her face, her throat too hoarse to scream; all she could do was lie and weep for her dead son.

A gentle caress on her cheek roused her from her despair as a soft spoken midwife crept to her bedside. “Ne pas pluerer, mademoiselle. Votre fils vit.”  The woman’s sobs died down slowly as the nurse shifted and pushed a bundle into her arms. The woman looked down, her eyes watering again, but this time for joy. Swallowed by the swaddling cloth he was wrapped in, eyes still shut, and chest heaving, but breathing, was her son.  He was early, by about two months and more precious than anything she could have ever imagined. She brought him to her lips with a delicate movement, aware of just how frail he was and placed a dainty kiss on his forehead. Her teardrops wet his cheeks as she kissed him again and again. She would love her baby always and forever.

Her son. Her Bilal.

 

* * *

 

Bilal couldn’t find the words. Well, to be more accurate, he could find them, but no one here would understand them. It was his first day in this American city, and he had been thrown to the wolves already. The flight from Paris had taken over 14 hours with the actual time being added onto by delays at both airports: another riot in Clichy-Sous-Bois that called for police presence and then a bad winter storm upon arrival to the United States. The weather was so bad most flights were rerouted to other airports in order to alleviate congestion.

So here he was in a whole new country, with nothing more than the map in his hand and the bag on his back. Saving up to move from a city with such unrest as his own had been hard financially, but leaving his mother behind, even at her behest to make better for himself was even more difficult. He was just eighteen, old enough to be an adult, but too young to know anything but childhood, so he clung the map close to his chest, the paper folding against the red fabric running parallel to the zipper on his white hoodie. He watched as the multitude passed him, eyeing him suspiciously. _Just like home,_ he thought. How saddening it was, to see one’s hopes and dreams of a better place dashed against the cruel existence of reality. These same looks were his reason for leaving home, for working to the bone as a messenger in order to get the chance to come stay with his cousin.

Tired of the glares and judgments being thrown his way, Bilal shuffled to a bench and slumped, pulling his knees to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. Sure, he had studied English, but like most teens, didn’t pay enough attention in class to learn much besides, “Hi, my name is.” He could maybe ask for pants, or a beer, but considering he only had one pair of the former, he didn’t want to lose them due to the latter. Anyway, he was supposed to be meeting his cousin, whom he was sure had already left by now, and probably wouldn’t come back for a while yet.

A hand gripped his arm and jerked him upright. Startled, he pulled away; ready to run, only the Arabic of Altair’s voice stopping him, “Don’t run Bilal. You wouldn’t get far.”

 

* * *

 

Barsad left Bilal breathless.

Sometimes he would chase Bilal through the city and over rooftops. Barsad wasn’t as fast as Bilal, being older, but he still had the technique to keep up with him. It was as if he knew where Bilal was going to go before he went; driving him into unknown territory, where a misstep could mean a long fall and a broken leg; or herding him into a corner when the second method of keeping Bilal gasping would take place.

Bilal was a terrible fighter.

Not terrible, really, just not a natural hand to hand combatant. His strikes were weak, unwilling as he was to inflict pain on another person. Barsad told him that he would have to learn, in order to survive now that he had made his choice. He wheezed as a kick caught him in the ribs, knocking the air out of his lungs. He crumpled to the ground, coughing and holding his chest. Barsad told him it was enough for the day.

Now Barsad was making him lose his breath again. Bilal moaned and writhed on the small bed, twisting the sheets in his hands as his lover toyed with his body. He began with a massage; an apology for the harsh lesson from before. The longer he touched, the more handsy and insistent he became, eventually tearing off Bilal’s clothing altogether.

A short time later found a very bruised and sore Bilal cushioned beneath a very (once again) apologetic Barsad. As they slowly drifted towards slumber, Barsad cupped his chin, tilting his face so he could meet his eyes.

“Tomorrow,” he whispered, his voice soothing to Bilal’s tired ears, “we go twice as hard.”

 

* * *

 

He was sputtering. It was cold and the darkness was creeping towards him. He could feel the sensation leaving his arms and legs even as the hot liquid poured forth. His hands clutched at his throat, useless as they were to stop the red fluid from flowing through his fingers. His blood, _his life_. It was leaving him, and he couldn’t stop it. He lay in the street, waiting for the end, watching as the cobblestone was painted crimson with his essence, seeping under the boots and speckling the blue uniforms of the men standing around him.

Bilal tried to open his mouth, but pain lanced through his jaw and his muscles refused to obey. He knew this was it, felt the bones cracking from the onslaught of the men sworn to “serve and protect”. Who did they serve? And who did they protect? Certainly not people like him; people whose voices never mattered or those who never spoke up, but which one was he?

So many times there were things he wanted to say, things he should have said, but now it was too late. Barsad would never know. Never know that every night Bilal lay with him was the happiest night of his life, and every morning when they woke up was one he was ever grateful for. His eyelids felt heavy…and as he contemplated closing them, he heard more snapping and yelling. He knew that voice, it was familiar…

When he woke again, it was to piercing blue eyes and a red scarf. He loved that scarf, but more importantly, he loved the man wearing it. Feeling emboldened by his second chance, he opened his mouth to tell him so.

Except nothing came out.

 

* * *

 

 

It was overwhelming. Not only had the Batman come back, but he managed to save the city as well. Bilal trudged through the streets, his feet dragging from weariness. It hadn’t been too long since the incident, and his body was still healing, but even so, he was better off than those who littered the steps outside of city hall.

He had already been inside; already saw Bane still standing, more or less anyway. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. On one hand, he was partially responsible for the whole situation, including his injuries, but so was the man he was looking for (well, not his injuries), yet on the other hand, without Bane’s intervention, Bilal would more than likely be dead from his current condition. Either way, Bane wasn’t who he was looking for, so he kept searching.

It took about an hour of winding through roads and alleyways to finally find him. Barsad was slumped against a tire of one of those ugly Bat-tank things, vest open and a trickle of scarlet oozing from a gunshot wound and leaving a trail on the ground. His breaths were labored and his head drooping as Bilal hobbled over as quickly as he could. He touched Barsad's face, squeezed his hand, anything he could do to wake him up. There was no telling how long he had been out like this, and while he didn’t seem to have lost too much blood, there was no way to be sure without a doctor.

It wasn’t the first time that since the assault that Bilal found himself wordless, but it was the most significant, Of all times not to be able to call out to someone, it had to be now, in the middle of a warzone where they were enemy combatants. With tears now brimming in his eyes, he was becoming increasingly frustrated. He needed to wake Barsad up, to get him moving to someplace they could hide, and he knew enough about first aid to never shake somebody as you may cause more injury.

He shook him anyway. It took a few shakes but eventually, the mercenary’s eyes fluttered open, and his breathing picked up.

“Habibi, you came for me.”

Bilal nodded. Of course he would.

 

* * *

 

Bilal laid on the couch of the tiny apartment he and Barsad shared. The occupation of Gotham was a year behind and so far neither one of them had been identified. Well Bilal _technically_ didn’t have anything to worry about, as he personally had not done anything to aid siege. He flipped through the tracks on his playlist, settling for a song by his favorite artist, Leni Urbana.

He lay on his back facing the window when he heard a knock at the door. Slowly, he stood, reaching his arms above his head and arching his back in a much needed stretch. Shaking some life back into his limbs, he padded over to let Barsad in.

Barsad strode through the doorway, grocery bags in hand, shooing at the stray cat that had recently taken residence in their apartment. Bilal watched as he placed the bags on their wobbly table, careful to distribute the weight so as not to overburden the left leg closest to the wall. He sifted through the bags, pulling out the items one by one, and turned to Bilal with a smirk, “Ravioli?”

Bilal shook his head. As hungry as he was, he was feeling a little needy at the moment. The apartment was warm, and rain had just begun to patter the windowpane. He put on his best pouty face and stepped into Barsad’s chest, wrapping his hands around the former mercenary and leaning his head on his shoulder.

Barsad took the hint and led him back to the couch, leaning back on the cushions and opening the blanket in invitation. Bilal slid down, making sure to exaggerate the motion, leaving his back arched and butt perked for just longer than necessary. Barsad huffed and rolled his eyes, nonetheless amused at the wanton display. When Bilal stopped fidgeting and was finally comfortable, Barsad started caressing him, neck, back shoulders, anywhere he could reach while murmuring in his ear. “My Bilal,” he whispered, his lips kissing the shell of his ear.

Bilal raised his hand, and fingers dancing, just like he learned from the book Barsad had brought home so long ago, answered him, _My Barsad._

**Author's Note:**

> For those who don't know, Bilal Asselah is part of the Batman Inc. arc in one of the Batman comics from not too long ago. The gist of that arc is Bruce decides to make a franchise of Batmen in different countries, as he realizes he can't be everywhere at once. 
> 
> Bilal is an Algerian young man recruited in Paris. For more info about him go here:
> 
> http://dc.wikia.com/wiki/Bilal_Asselah_(New_Earth)


End file.
